Chapter Thirty: Paranoia

Right around lights out, there was a series of angry yells from Ferguson. Racetrack smirked as Sneakers flipped out the light. "Should I ask what you what they're yelling about?" he asked.

"The thing is, if you apply weight to an open ketchup packet, it spurts. And if you don't know it's there because it's cleverly hidden beneath your sheets, and you lie down, it spurts all over your bed," Racetrack said up into the darkness under David's bunk.

There was a knock on the door, and it opened abruptly. Maverick stood in the door frame, illuminated by a flashlight. "I would just like to say thank you for not dumping ketchup on my bunk," he said. "And also, your parents are going to kill you when we have to do an emergency laundry run in the morning."

"Please," Race answered. "It's prank week. They knew what they were getting into."

Maverick glowered. "Just so you know, I'm not going to feel guilty when Spot gets you back."

Racetrack chuckled. "Then tell him to hurry up, huh? The anxiety is killing me. Now if you'll excuse us, it's lights out. 'Night!"

Maverick grumbled something unintelligible as he walked off.

*

Hotshot approached Murphy Two, still feeling a little irritated that the usual prank war was off. True, getting the guys would be fun; but she'd been looking forward to her final prank war all year. She knocked hesitantly on the door and waved a white tank-top, the closest thing she had to a flag of neutrality.

"What do you want?" demanded Lyr, one of the bunk's inhabitants, as she opened the door. Hotshot looked past her to make sure everyone was there, and they were; the girls in Murphy Two were Grammar (who had been there all summer), Lyr (shortened from Lyrics), Nova, Sodapop, Zodiac, Birdy, Quotes, Winger and Two-Bits. She didn't know most of them very well, since they tended to be slightly younger than the girls in her own bunk, who she'd been living with in various combinations every year she'd been at camp.

"I come in peace," Hotshot said, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, right."

Hotshot shrugged. "My bunkmates and I were talking last night. We thought that instead of pranking each other, our bunks should team up."

"Why?" asked Grammar, coming to stand behind Nova.

"It was Smurf's idea. She thought it might be more fun if we teamed up and took on the boys instead. Maybe not even a lot of pranks... Just one big one."

Lyr glanced back at the others and nodded, then stood aside to let Hotshot in. "Like what?" she asked.

*

Swifty and Itey were late to lunch the next day, but refused to explain why. Everyone knew it was from the prank war, and they were admonished by Mrs. Higgins for being so late, but didn't explain. It was clear enough when the boys returned to their cabins what they had been up to: the entire cabin and the trees surrounding it were covered in toilet paper.

Racetrack rolled his eyes as Spot elbowed him in the ribs.

"Yes, it's lovely," Race said, and led the way inside. Spot scowled at him, clearly having hoped for a bigger reaction, and Racetrack smirked inwardly. He knew there would be worse pranks coming, but getting Spot's goat by not reacting was amusing enough for now.

As it turned out, the toilet paper wasn't all Itey and Swifty had been up to. Skittery discovered it the hard way when he went to the bathroom; the toilet flushed properly, but as it did so something else squirted from the tank, hitting Skittery in the side of the head as he turned.

"What?" he asked, wiping the water off with the back of his hand. "Weird."

The same thing happened to Sneakers a few minutes later, and he noted that the tank wasn't refilled. He frowned. "We seem to have a plumbing problem," he announced to the cabin as he wiped his forehead off with a towel.

"Is it gross?" Snitch asked, bouncing off of his bed to take a look.

"Not yet, but the tank isn't refilling so we can't really use it until that's fixed," Sneakers said.

"Ooooh," Racetrack mumbled.

Sneakers raised an eyebrow. "Something you'd like to share, Mr. Higgins?"

"Spot's first year here, he helped me sabotage Jack's toilet like that. It's really easy." Race shrugs. "I can fix it."

"Please do," Sneakers said. Racetrack shrugged and wandered into the bathroom.

"So what do we do to get them back?" Snitch asked.

Racetrack raised an eyebrow. "Is anyone up for breaking into the kitchen?"

*

Spot didn't like thinking of himself as paranoid, but on the other hand, paranoia seemed wiser than pretending Racetrack wasn't out to get him. And it was particularly important because this was the last year Racetrack would be a camper, and thus fair game in the prank war—and so it was Spot's last chance to win. And Spot hated losing.

So paranoia it was, and thus he'd taken to skulking around and only returning to his bunk when he absolutely had to—to sleep and shower. The rest of the time he spent plotting off by himself. If nothing else, it meant that any of Race's pranks wouldn't hit him, just someone else in his bunk.

But he did need to shower. That was an unfortunate fact of life. Even at camp, where cleanliness was hard to come by and he could swear he was still washing dirt and sand out of his bunk from the hazing ceremony, showers were an occasional necessity.

The best course of action, he'd decided, was to shower during an activity hour when no one else would be around. He'd test the shower first to make sure it worked properly (and if it didn't, no one was around to know) and no one was there to disrupt it. So maybe he was paranoid; but he was also reasonably sure it was justified.

With a towel wrapped around his middle, he turned the shower on. Nothing out of the ordinary happened, so Spot turned it off, hung up the towel, hopped in, and turned it on. The sound of the water (and his own habitual hum while showering) was loud enough that he didn't hear anyone else enter the bunk.

He did hear it when the door to the bathroom opened, and he tensed up, but didn't really have anywhere to go. There were definitely people lurking on the other side of the shower curtain, and all he could do was wait.

There was a pause, then someone said, "Ready?"

He struggled to place the voice through the sound of the shower, as a large pot of freezing cold water, complete with ice cubes, was dropped over the curtain. He froze up for a second, but most of it missed him; the icy spray only caught his arm and pooled at his feet.

"Ha!" he yelled. "You missed—"

Another spray came over the curtain.

This one was flour, and it landed directly over his head, and the water instantly caked it to his hair and skin.

He sputtered for a moment, then cursed, as the bathroom door slammed shut.

*

Jack frowned.

He was fairly certain that not only had he not brought a pair of fuzzy pink slippers to camp, he didn't actually own a pair of fuzzy pink slippers. And he hadn't actually seen any of the campers in his bunk with a pair, either.

Their sudden appearance made a lot more sense when he discovered that somehow, mysteriously, overnight, every pair of socks, shoes, and flipflops he'd brought to camp had vanished.

It wasn't like he couldn't walk to the dining hall barefoot, he knew. But there was a rule against doing so in effect for the campers, after the fourth time Triage had to bandage cut up feet (and once remove a piece of broken glass). And flaunting the rules was discouraged, when he had so much trouble getting the campers to follow them to begin with.

Jack sighed, and slipped his feet into the (surprisingly comfortable) slippers.

"Interesting fashion statement," David greeted him at the dining hall.

"By any chance, was your counselor missing for awhile last night?"

David shrugged guiltily. "I was asleep. I, um, might have seen him come in really early this morning, though."

Inside, Sneakers was smirking and standing next to the lost and found, where Jack found every pair of socks and shoes he'd lost. "Got you last," Sneakers said, as Paint snapped a picture of him in the slippers.

"Laugh it up," Jack answered, and took his seat for breakfast.

*

As evening approached, Race had to admit he expected something; he knew Spot wouldn't let Pentland Bunk get away with the flouring that morning. And he didn't actually notice what was wrong at first.

He pulled off his hooded, camp-logo sweatshirt and tossed it up on to his bed, then looked around. Nothing seemed out of place. Which was odd, because he could have sworn he'd overheard Ian and Spot discussing some sort of sabotage plan. Not the details, but just enough to make him sure that something ought to be wrong in the cabin—they had definitely been planning to steal something.

He turned to David. "You see anything wrong with this picture?" he asked, gesturing around the cabin.

"No," David said, looking at him like he might have gone slightly insane. "Prank week makes you paranoid."

"No, Spot Conlon makes me paranoid."

David shrugged in a way that implied that, either way, Race was still paranoid and perhaps crazy. But Racetrack was used to that—it was half the fun of prank week, really.

It took another two hours before he discovered what was wrong, and lights out aside. Still certain he was missing something, he clamored up into bed, flopped down, and yelled, "Ow!"

At the other end of the cabin, Skittery flicked the lights back on. Race sat up and pulled his sheet back to reveal... the wooden board that should have been under his mattress.

His mattress, however, was nowhere to be found.

"What's the matter?" Sneakers asked from his own bunk, sounding lazy and amused. He'd been in a good mood all day, though.

"Spot stole my mattress!"

"What?"

"He stole my mattress," Racetrack said again. "My sheets and blankets and pillows are here. But that's it."

Sneakers got out of bed to examine it, and sure enough, there was no mattress on Racetrack's bed. "Huh," he said. "Well, that sucks."

"Thanks for those words of wisdom." Race rolled his eyes and glanced out the bunk's window—to see Spot was watching out of the back window of Ferguson, smirking. He waved upon seeing he had Racetracks attention, then flipped the lights out and went to bed.

Sneakers shrugged. "I guess you can use my upper bunk tonight."

"Great," Race muttered, and began to move his bedding to the spare bunk, highly irritated.

*

Unlike Jack's footwear, Race's mattress did not mysteriously reappear. Racetrack, however, was unwilling to simply ask Spot where it was. And Spot, irritatingly, didn't say anything which might have given it away, not even to brag. So Racetrack pretended he was unaffected—after all, there was the spare mattress—and Spot continued smirking.

Race cold only stand so much, however. Finally, after lunch the next day, he stomped up to Spot, who smiled back at him. "Can I help you?"

"You. Me. Poker tomorrow night. Winner takes all, including the prank war. And my mattress."

"Yeah, you'll never guess where that is," Spot said. "But why would I want to risk it all on a poker game when I'm winning already?"

"Fine," Race said nonchalantly. "If you're scared, I mean, I understand. Can't blame you."

"Whoa, who said I was scared? I was just making a point."

"And?"

"I'll be there," Spot said.

Racetrack smirked. "Good," he said. "I'll see you then."

"Fine."

"Good."

"Good."

"Fine," Racetrack snapped, and stomped away. He could practically feel Spot smirking after him, but refused to look back and see.

*

Counselor laundry was supposed to come back on Thursday. Sneakers, however, was not terribly surprised to discover his own clothes bag was 'lost'. He rolled his eyes at Jack, who smiled back at him. "You're paranoid. Besides, you've still got plenty of clothes in your cabin, right?"

Sneakers didn't say anything to that, but he did hurry back to Pentland to make sure that he did, in fact, have plenty of clothing in his drawers, which he did. So he was only mildly paranoid that night, and certainly didn't think anything of doing what he normally did—sleeping in a pair of comfortable boxer shorts.

The rest of his clothing didn't go missing until the next morning, when he woke up and discovered it was all gone, leaving him nothing but the boxers he was wearing to go to breakfast in. Which led to numerous catcalls, Paint blowing him a kiss, and Jack pulling out his camera as Sneakers walked in the door.

"Okay, point made, Kelly," Sneakers muttered, feeling himself blush as people gawked at him. "Where's my clothing?"

"I haven't the slightest idea," Jack answered. "But I've been meaning to ask you, why is there a mattress on the roof of your cabin?"

"What?!" Racetrack screamed, and turned to glare at Spot, who shrugged innocently.

"I told you you'd never guess," Spot answered.

"Bite me," Race replied.

*

"You really think they can take care of it?" Hotshot whispered as they walked into the dining hall for what promised to be the most intense poker game of the summer.

"It'll be fine," Smurf answered. "Stop worrying."

"I hate not getting to do the deed myself."

"You've said that nine hundred times. We can't do it ourselves, we have to be here where they can see us here so we can't get in trouble and be kicked out of camp."

"I still hate it."

"I don't care anymore," Smurf snapped and sat down.

Hotshot rolled her eyes.

"And don't look so conspicuous."

"Yeah, yeah." Hotshot glowered at her for a second, then turned to Spot, who was stretching like it was some kind of sports event, while Race looked on, amused. "Hey, good luck, Conlon!"

Spot glanced up, shrugged a little, and went back to stretching, before finally walking to the table where Race was waiting.

"You're sure you want to do this?" Racetrack asked. "I ask as a friend, because I know how upset you get when you lose."

"Why don't we let the cards talk instead, huh?" Spot asked.

"Your funeral."

"Did you get your mattress down?" Spot asked. "'Cause you'll probably want to cry in bed for awhile when this is over."

"Uh huh. Says the guy who's never won."

"I think that means I'm due."

"I think that means you suck," Race answered.

"Are you going to deal the cards, or what?"

Racetrack produced his deck of cards and began to shuffle.

They hadn't even finished the first hand when the rest of the girls' unit arrived in the dining hall. No one really noticed it, as everyone who didn't know what was going on was already busy watching the card game. But Smurf and Hotshot, and the few who'd accompanied them to begin with, glanced over; Grammar nodded back at them. It was done.

The game continued. To everyone's great surprise, Spot won the first hand. Racetrack didn't react at all, as Spot gloated. He was in full out poker mode, and though he still talked and joked with the people around him, he let on nothing about the game. Spot clearly tried to keep his smugness in check, knowing that there was a long game ahead of him, but he wasn't as good at it.

It was another three hands later—two to Race, another to Spot—when Sneakers and Maverick walked in to the dining hall, neither one looking too pleased.

"Gambling, Racetrack?" Sneakers asked.

"Toothpicks!" Race said insistently. "Nothing's wrong with that. Besides, winner takes the prank war—and you wouldn't want us to lose, would you?"

Sneakers rolled his eyes, but didn't actually disagree. Maverick, on the other hand, cleared his throat. "Speaking of which, whoever set off the stink bomb, it got both cabins. And it's disgusting."

Racetrack frowned and looked at Spot, who looked confused. "Way to go," Race said.

"It wasn't me," Spot answered, and looked at the counselors. "What happened?"

"Both cabins have this awful... sticky-sweet, nauseating odor," Sneakers said. "All the beds were doused with it. So I went to go complain to him," he pointed at Maverick, "because of the no-destruction-of-property rule, but your bunk was just as bad."

Spot studied Race, and Race watched him back. Finally, Spot said, "It wasn't us. I was already winning."

"Not for long," Race said, glancing at his cards. "But it wasn't us, either. Why would we stink up our own bunk?"

"Then who did it?"

The girls in the dining hall looked around at one another, none of them speaking, trying not to look too guilty.

Except that not all of them were too good at looking innocent, and when Racetrack glanced around at them, his gaze lingered on Hotshot, who shrugged thoughtlessly. He glanced behind her at Smurf, Trixie and Arrow, and none of them reacted, either.

It was Slant who eventually laughed nervously, as though she were trying to dispel the tension in the room, but everyone stared at her.

"What?" she asked. "What?"

Racetrack cleared his throat. "Nothing. Let's finish our hand, huh, Spot?"

Spot nodded cautiously. "Yeah," he said.

Arrow cleared her throat. "You know what? Poker is really boring. Besides." She smiled a little. "Who cares? They're both losers. Come on."

The boys watched her go, followed by the rest of the girls. Racetrack looked up at the two counselors, who had taken seats.

"So?" Sneakers finally said.

"Oh, did you want me to react to that?" Racetrack asked, smirking. "Well, if we're both losers, I don't see too much point in finishing this card game."

"You giving up?" Spot asked.

"No, giving you the chance to."

"Yeah, right."

Race shrugged. "What I was saying was, you and I could play cards all night. Someone, and I think we can guess who, just got us both."

Spot looked down at his cards, then up at Racetrack. "So... We've got a common enemy."

"Exactly. And we can either play cards and ignore it..."

"Or we go after it together." Spot looked over at the boys from his bunk, then back at Race. "You wouldn't want to call this game off unless you were worried I'd win."

"You wouldn't take me up on it unless you were worried I'd win," Race countered.

Sneakers added sardonically, "And aren't we all winners at this camp?"

Race held out his hand. "The thing with my mattress was pretty good."

"Yeah, it was." Spot hesitantly shook his hand. "But you'd have gotten back at me."

"And now we both get back at someone else."

Spot nodded. "Enough chatter. Let's plan."

"Or," Maverick said, "we could all go clean up the two cabins, before the stench gets any worse."

*

It turned out that the cabins both reeked of girls' perfume. It seemed like it had been diluted enough to douse all the beds, but not so much that it didn't stink. All of the windows were opened and the beds stripped, but not quickly enough to get the smell out.

The perfume also turned out to have another, unexpected side effect.

The first raccoon showed up before they'd finished stripping their beds, following the smell. A skunk followed it, and then another raccoon.

"That's not good," Sneakers commented, as he hurried the campers back out of the cabin. He looked down at Ferguson, and saw another skunk make its way inside; a minute later, Maverick and the campers hurried out.

The two groups met between the bunks.

"I think it's safe to say this wasn't intended," Maverick said. "It's just a pain."

Sneakers groaned. "You go to the infirmary and radio up to the Higgins'." He looked around at the irritated campers. "And we'll go wait in the dining hall." He looked at Race. "Not that I'm encouraging you, but this is so not over."

*

"So what do you think they're gonna do?" Slant asked.

"Well, it wouldn't be anything if you hadn't given it away!" Hotshot snapped.

"Like they wouldn't have guessed," Arrow reminded her, rolling her eyes. "Anyway, it can't be too bad. All we did was spray a little perfume."

"Yeah," Mayfly said. "A little. Right."

"Well... There's nothing we can do about it now," Arrow said.

"I'm beginning to think we didn't think this through," Trixie added.

"Oh, stop worrying," Hotshot said. "It's just a prank. That's all they're going to do, too. Jeeze."

"So I suppose you're not at all worried?" Mayfly demanded.

"Well, not worried. Exactly." She shrugged. "Like Arrow said, there's nothing we can do now."

"Very philosophical," Mondie said. "I hope Mushy darling isn't too mad at me."

Trixie rolled her eyes. "He would be if he heard you call him that."

"Like you know anything about him."

"I know more than you do!"

"Oh, stop fighting," Mayfly said. "He thinks you're both crazy, so what's the point?"

"And why should they listen to someone with your highly questionable tastes?" Smurf asked.

"Not this again." Arrow rolled her eyes. "Can't we go a single night without having this same argument?"

"It doesn't really look that way, doe sit?" Slant sighed. She leaned back on her bed. "This waiting is making me paranoid."

"Well, whatever they do, it won't be tonight," Mondie said. "It's tomorrow we have to worry about."

[End Chapter Thirty]
Chapter Thirty-One: Pranks and Plagues